


Amnam

by jojosiewa



Series: MCYT Short Stories [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Homophobia, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 19:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16709020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojosiewa/pseuds/jojosiewa
Summary: One can't remember, one remembers too much.





	1. PART I - LIVING IN THE PRESENT

**Author's Note:**

> I made it vague again lol Adam is the narrator

The first time I woke up I was in an aircraft. It was loud and I could feel the wind on my face and there were people around me, talking and shouting and watching.

"Wh... Hey..." I tried to speak, but found it hard. I shut my eyes and panted, trying to ignore the bundle of unpleasant sounds, trying to focus on what they were saying around me.

I drifted away, just as the ringing in my ears had subsided.

*

"He's waking up, he's waking up."

The second time seemed less dangerous. I was in a hospital bed, the voices were calmer, and the people surrounding me were not all uniformed.

"Rise and shine, Private," a man scoffed and patted my cheek. He was sitting on my bed and wearing a robe, and his striking blue eyes stared heavily through my own, and his short dark brown hair was greasy and messy. "Do you know where you are? Where you came from?"

I opened my mouth, but hesitated, biting my lip.

How did I end up here?

What's my name?

Why can't I remember anything?

I put my hand over my mouth, eyes wide, and the man's smirk faded. "You don't know. Private, hey, do you remember anything?"

I shook my head. I opened my mouth to speak again, but I couldn't. "I, I-I," I breathed out and tried to calm down, but the ringing in my ears was getting louder and my chest was tightening.

I can't talk.

"J-Ju-S," I shut my eyes and shook my head. The man put a hand on my shoulder and called for a nurse. The others began to sadly retreat back to whatever they were doing before.

"Private, stay with me buddy, open your eyes. You're okay."

I did open my eyes, and I was tearing up. His unshaven, scarred face was no longer frightening as it had been. Those blue eyes were concerned, and soft, and the way he rubbed my arm so soothingly calmed me.

"You were in Vietnam, with me, you're nineteen, Private First Class. I'm your general. Was, your general. We got stuck, couldn't get rescued, and we were left for dead. You and I were the only ones who made it out alive, but you got brain trauma. You're in a war hospital, you're going home soon."

"Wh-a," I huffed and shook my head. Concerned suddenly about whether or not I'd see him again, I pointed to him, and he seemed to understand.

"Me, um, I'm not sure. I'm not hurt as bad as you, they're probably going to send me back out."

I held onto his wrists, desperate for comfort. I sniffled.

"Oh god, Private, don't cry," the general wiped my cheeks with his thumb. "Don't cry, you get to go back home."

"General Stapleton, he doesn't have a home. There's nothing on his file, not even a name," a nurse approached with a clipboard. The general looked at her, then at me again. "How did you end up in this war if you don't even have a name? If you have no name that means you had to have snuck in somehow... voluntarily."

I blinked, and looked away, unsure. Why would I volunteer to be in this war? Why would I ever want to go to war?

"Maybe I-I was run-n-ning," I whispered, and I put my hand over my mouth. The general gasped. "You can talk?"

I didn't recognize my own voice. I looked at the nurse, confused, and I tried to speak again. "What- wh, what's h-happening t-t-to me?"

"The brain trauma must have caused a stutter, I'll get the doctor and we'll make sure everything's alright," the nurse reassured, and she left. The general rubbed my arm. "See? All you needed was to wake up a little, your voice is alright."

"C-Can't say th-the sam-me for my, m-memories," I frowned, and the general shrugged. "Ah, try to look on the bright side. Ian, Stapleton, I realize I didn't tell you my name."

I held out a shaky hand, and shook his.

I remembered the Vietnam war. I knew I was an American soldier, I knew what I was fighting for, well, not really, but I couldn't remember where I grew up, or when.

"Wh-What do I l-look like?" I asked, quietly. Ian took a deep breath.

"Your eyes are golden, your hair is long and brown. You got some peach fuzz. Tall, slim, prominent jawline..."

"I s-sound hands-some," I smiled, and Ian smiled back. "Wait until you get out of this place and you can see a mirror."

General Stapleton sat on my bed for a while that day, sometimes talking about the war, sometimes about his life back home, sometimes just staring ahead, flashbacks already in his eyes.

I could feel the brutality of the war in my bones and I knew Ian couldn't go back out there, not in his mental condition.

His bed was next to mine, and when night came I sensed him awake, and though I had a restless night myself, every time I woke he was awake too, adding heavy breathing to the nighttime sounds of other traumatized soldiers.

*

The next morning, Ian was gone. I had slept in, and they gave me my morning rations and told me Ian was shipped back out.

The guy next to me made fun of me for crying.

*

"Angel!"

I opened my eyes ten days later and I saw Ian again, his blue eyes tearing up, his hair shorter than before. He ran towards me. "Angel, I, they cleared me. To go home."

"Angel," I whispered, fast enough so that I wouldn't stutter. I grabbed his arm, and he grabbed mine back.

He cleared his throat. "I, sorry Private, I started calling you Angel when they sent me back out because when I thought of you I felt calm, it's like... you saved me. You saved me."

"I-I like it," I said, and I felt my face get warm. "I h-hated being a-alone."

Ian looked guilty, and I put my hand on his shoulder, telling him silently that it wasn't his fault. He patted my hand and smiled weakly, and we both stepped back from each other respectfully.

"What ha-happened?" I checked his body for injuries, walking around him. He concerned me, even though I barely knew him, he had been so nice to me on that day, and his eyes and his smile and his gentle touch had imprinted themselves in my head.

"I had... a mental breakdown. I've been deemed too unstable to serve."

"Oh." I pursed my lips, unaware of how to respond. He was going home, but at what cost, and the way he stared so sadly through my eyes told me he felt pathetic, useless, weak.

"I was thinking maybe, we could go home together. Live together, y'know, to save money."

I opened my mouth, but didn't speak.

"I-I don't want to be alone. I've heard about the lives of veterans, Angel, when they come back. People don't like us, they don't respect us, all because we fought in this stupid fucking war that shouldn't have been fought in the first place," Ian glanced around, huffing. "And... I don't want to end up back where I was before the war, either."

I nodded. I had been reading the paper, searching for jobs and apartments. With my stutter, another person would be a big help.

"We're leaving soon, then," Ian smiled. "Maybe someone'll come looking for you."

I glanced away and sighed.

"Mayb-be."

*

"Okay, this is the place."

"The Place" was a cozy, affordable home in San Diego. It was a short walk to the beach and the neighborhood was filled with hippies. Ian hoped the pot would calm his nerves, but we had to make sure none of them knew we were war veterans. They didn't like the war, not at all.

We were paying rent to a nice sounding guy named Mitch Hughes, with whom I exchanged a few letters. I was afraid to tell him we were fresh out of war, since this particular war was held under lots of controversy.

Ian knocked, and it took a moment, but a frazzled, tired woman opened the door. Her hair was short and tan, and she was slim. Her eyes were chestnut brown, and the whites were tinted red.

"Who are you?" She asked, clearly high, and Ian raised his eyebrows. "Ian Stapleton and Angel? Uh, where's Mitch?"

"I am Mitch. Oh, god, sorry," the girl hit her head. "Forgot you were coming. Come in, please, please please."

She stepped aside, and I exchanged glances with Ian, before walking in.

Mitch was a woman.

"I have one extra bedroom, as you know, and only one bed, so, one of you gets the inflatable mattress until I can turn the old office into a bedroom."

"Yeah, that was discussed," Ian smiled, and Mitch led us to the extra bedroom.

"You said you were tight, so, you don't mind sharing a room for a bit?"

"It's fine, we'll manage. Ian Stapleton," he held out a hand, and Mitch shook it. "Michelle Hughes. Please, Mitch."

I opened my mouth, but Ian spoke for me. "This is Angel here, he has a bit of trouble speaking."

I felt a bit relieved as I shook Mitch's hand. There was no stutter if there was no voice.

"Mute, got it. No questions asked, like you said in the letter. You have a way with words in your writing," Mitch patted my shoulder. "Anyway, this is the bedroom. Hasn't been used in a while, might be a little dusty, but I swear I cleaned. Or, tried."

The room was actually nice, and the one bed was big enough for two. I blushed at the thought.

"You must be tired after traveling, do you want to sleep?"

"Angel?" Ian glanced at me, putting a firm, caring hand on my arm. "Take the bed," he cooed. "I'm gonna talk to Mitch for a minute."

I breathed out my nose and shook my head. I grabbed Ian's wrist, giving him a pleading look.

"You want to hang out some more."

I nodded.

"But you're tired, you should rest."

I glared at him. 'I'm not a child,' I mouthed, and he huffed. "You're right."

"You guys ARE tight," Mitch scoffed. "Alright, boys, what do you want to talk about?"

"Rules. Surely you want rules."

Mitch grinned. "If you bring anyone over, no staying the night. I don't want to wake up and see four people in the house instead of three. No drug drama. I get my weed from trusted friends, if you want to use some then just ask, no payment needed."

Her smile flickered away.

"I don't want to hear SHIT about Vietnam, you get me? It's touchy."

We both nodded, understanding.

"Anything else you wanna discuss?" Mitch loosened her posture, and I glanced at Ian, waiting for him to respond.

"No, it's fine. Though I hope the rule about bringing girls over applies to you with boys," Ian chuckled, and Mitch raised her eyebrows. "Well, I'm trying to get laid right now, and it's my house–"

"Ah, got it," Ian grinned. "But yeah, I probably won't be bringing home any girls," Ian glanced at me and blushed.

"Aww, why?" Mitch actually seemed a little disappointed.

"I uhh, I don't know. No one would want me anyway, I'm just, I, I'm gonna sleep." Ian inched away, flustered, and he hid inside his room.

I winced a little, his words and actions hitting my heart in a place where it hurt.

"I'll get the blow up mattress," Mitch patted my back, and left.

I found myself in the bedroom again, and I saw Ian sitting on the bed and rubbing his arms. "Don't give me pity," Ian sighed, avoiding eye contact. "I know that look."

"I'm n-not." I grasped his hand and squeezed it in mine. His eyes drifted to our hands, and he looked softly towards me.

"Angel, what if you're leaving a life behind?"

"I'm o-only nineteen, what l-life could I possibly h-have?"

"Don't say that."

"A-A-And what about y-you? You m-must be leaving s-something b-behind too."

After I asked, Ian seemed distant. He stared ahead, not at me, but past me, as if seeing something beyond me, something far away that scared him.

"I-I'm sorry–"

Ian shook his head. "I'm alright, Angel. Don't talk, I'm alright."

"Are y-you sure?"

Mitch walked in, and froze at the door. "I... I'll go."

"No, it's fine." Ian stood, and smiled. "Got the mattress?"

"Yeah."

"Let's set it up."

*

"I made mac n cheese for dinner tonight, sorry, I'm kinda low on money, it's why I got roommates," Mitch set bowls in front of the two boys. "But I mean, mac n cheese is good, right?"

I nodded, and dug in, scooping up the boxed macaroni eagerly. It had been a while since I had good food. I glanced at Ian and he was the same. I smiled at him, and he snorted, his mouth full.

I grinned, and my face was warm all of a sudden, and my gut twisted in a familiar way.

Familiar?

I frowned, and I looked at my food.

"Angel?"

I shut my eyes, trying to focus on that memory. I needed to.

I remembered being scared, and I remembered being in a line, and I remembered a pep talk, about war, about death, and about bravery.

I remembered his blue eyes, I remembered feeling things I shouldn't have felt and doing things I shouldn't have done, late at night when everyone else was asleep.

I shook my head, and opened my eyes. Mitch and Ian were both looking at me, and I shrunk under their gazes.

"Angel?" Ian mumbled, and he touched my back, and I felt another warmth, this one less innocent than the last.

I eased away from his touch and shook my head, making a motion with my hand to dismiss it.

"Angel–"

I whacked his hand away, and focused on my food. The rest of the night was silent.

*

"What happened," Ian whispered, and I sighed.

"Memory."

"You got some of your memory back?! Angel–!"

"Look it's– it's private, o-okay?" I shut my eyes tightly. "I-It's private."

"Okay, I'm sorry, Angel," Ian put his hands on my shoulders, and he started to give me a massage. I groaned and leaned into it.

"You have knots, lots of them. Jesus. Hey kid, I, I'm sorry. This is all my fault, I made the call to go try to fight our way through that stupid base. I didn't think they'd be the ones ambushing US."

"It's war. P-People die."

Ian clamped his hands on my shoulders in an uncomfortable position.

"Yeah, but this group died because of my stupid mistake. And you lost your fucking memory."

"M-Maybe I d-didn't want it," I huffed, a little irritated.

Ian sighed. "You're... you're right. Neither of us know how you ended up as my soldier, I shouldn't... I'm sorry."

I put my hand on his, and I rubbed my thumb over it soothingly. "D-Don't worry."

Ian hugged me from behind, sniffling.

"We, w-we're away f-from it all. Safe."

"Safe." Ian took a deep breath. "Safe."

*

When Ian got high for the first time, I was worried. I sat very close and refused to smoke any myself. Ian was drowsy and relaxed and giggly, and really hungry. He told me everything was okay, that he was okay, and I was happy for him, I really was. But seeing him so vulnerable like that...

That day I called it a night right after dinner.

There was a soft knock at the door. "Angel?"

It was Mitch. I curled my feet to my chest and gripped the pillow my head was resting on. I was crying, not completely sure why, and my mouth was quivering as I held back sobs.

I was facing away from her, but I felt the mattress bounce a bit when she sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Is it Ian? It's Ian, isn't it? You got scared."

I sniffled. My nose was running.

"I know we live in a dangerous world and it seems like a bad idea to be a bit out of it, under the influence, but... sometimes you just gotta say fuck it. You know?" Mitch sighed and laid down next to me. "Ian has an anxiety thing. Pot happens to work for him. Sometimes when the world is burning a good thing to do is to calm your nerves and realize you can't fix everything."

I shut my eyes.

"Ian is a tortured soul, I can see it in his eyes, and he's the type of person to think anything and everything is his responsibility. He'd be the one talking to you if he weren't passed out on the couch."

I darted upwards, turning to her and taking quick breaths. She smiled. "He's fine, he crashed, it happens."

Her smile faded. "You're crying."

I flushed red and wiped my eyes, shaking my head. Mitch grabbed my wrist. "It's okay. Cry. You're sensitive, it's okay."

"I-I'm scared," I mumbled, not caring that I had spoken. Mitch seemed to understand. "Angel..."

I let out a sob, covering my mouth. Mitch gasped and pulled me into a hug, rubbing my back. "Hey, Ange, don't worry. I'm scared too. I... I'm scared a lot."

I cried into her shoulder, letting her lift a blanket and wrap it around me, all the while cooing soft words into my ear and telling me to cry it out.

It took me a while to stop. By then my eyes were red and my throat was sore and all I wanted to do was crawl into a hole and die. Instead, Mitch gently laid me back in bed and pulled the covers over me.

"Everything will be better in the morning," she told me, and she left. I missed Ian's presence on the mattress below me, I missed seeing him there safe and sound.

I had a hard time sleeping.

*

"Angel freaked out a bit last night, and hey, you didn't tell me he could talk. He has a stutter, he should be talking MORE to try to make it less prominent–"

"Wait, he freaked out? Oh crap, thanks for telling me, Mitch."

"No problem."

I heard the conversation on the other side of the door, and I shut my eyes again, trying to go back to sleep.

The door opened, and I felt Ian's hand on my arm. "Angel..."

His touch was soft, and I let my eyes flutter open. "I-I was jus-st a little w-worried."

"I'll stop smoking pot."

"No. It h-helps." I sat up and he sat next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

"I mean... I didn't have a nightmare last night."

"Real-ly?" I cupped his face in my hands, and I smiled. We both blushed, and I felt his hand reach under my shirt. I leaned in.

For a moment the world melted away, and I thought everything would just be fine if I could do this now, we'd be okay.

And then Ian froze, and I froze, and we looked at each other and we both knew.

"We shouldn't. We couldn't," Ian shuffled back.

"Y-Yeah." I wrapped my arms around my legs and huddled into myself, and Ian got up. "You, gonna stay in here for a little while longer?"

I nodded.

"Cool, I'll, uh, I'm gonna watch TV with Mitch."

And he was gone, and the world was cold again.

*

A month passed and all was well. Mostly.

Mitch REALLY hated the war. If there was a war update in the newspaper she'd toss it into the trash, or back out into the street. Once she caught Ian pulling it back out of the garbage to read it and another time me, walking back into the street to grab what she'd thrown. After that she'd throw it at one of us instead, and we'd read it, biting our fingernails and wincing.

I was practicing on improving my stutter, and it made me want to TEAR MY HAIR OUT.

"Pe-Peter Pi-per pi-pip– FUCK!" I stood and seethed, and Ian sighed and held his arms out. I yelled and lightly punched and pushed at his chest, shaking him by the collar and finally leaning on him and whining. This happened a lot. They were light punches and they didn't hurt, I swear.

Ian got a job at a movie theater, I got into speech therapy on Thursdays and I swept at a barber shop. Ian got his separate room. For a month it was fine. Then it all went to shit, because of just one slip up.

I was pouring orange juice, and as I held it up to my mouth the smell sparked something. I remember passing an abandoned town and another soldier finding a perfectly good, if not warm, carton of orange juice. He gave me the first sip.

"Spare me some juice, kid?"

"Yes general."

The room went cold. I shook my head and blinked; I had confused reality with the memory. FUCK, I had called him general in front of Mitch. Flying, FUCKING FUCK.

Mitch slammed her mug of coffee back down, looking down at it.

"Tell me that's just a fucking tease, that you weren't actually–"

"I was a general in the war, he was my private, we both almost died and we got sent home."

I covered my mouth and glared at Ian.

Mitch narrowed her eyes.

"You... you were a general."

"Barely, I was the leader of my group of boys, they called me general. I had the most experience–"

"I'll give you until tomorrow. Both of you." Mitch stood. "I want you out."

"Mitch, it's not like–"

"DON'T TALK TO ME! I LOST MY FATHER, and my–" she sighed, and tried to calm down. Her breaths were shaky. "And my brother, in that stupid fuckfest, and I'm done. I don't want to hear about it I don't want to FUCKING know ANYTHING about it and I certainly don't want two former soldiers in my fucking house."

Ian scoffed. "What do you know?"

"Ian–" I held out my hand.

"Not NOW, Private!" He glared at me, and I stepped back, scared. I was tearing up. What he said HURT.

"You have no right to judge us, you have no fucking idea what we've seen. Why do you think I fucking take the pot? Why?" Ian pushed Mitch.

"Woah," I spoke up.

"That's your problem," Mitch pushed Ian back.

"You fucker–"

I wrapped my arms around Ian from behind and held him back. "Ian sh-she's grieving l-let's jus-st–"

"Let GO! You don't know either, IDIOT!" Ian elbowed me and I stumbled back.

"You don't know either, you have amnesia, you should be fucking LUCKY YOU CAN'T REMEMBER! You can't vouch for me, this isn't your fight."

That struck me hard. I fell back on my ass and I let out a sob. I stood, wiped my eyes, and ran to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

And I screamed. I kicked the bed and I sobbed and I screamed my heart out, because that's what he made me feel.

He broke my fucking heart.

When I was done and silent and broken I heard more yelling from outside, but I knew it was the same recycled dialogue over and over because both of them were stubborn and the argument was so fucking futile and weak. Mitch was overcome with grief and Ian was overcome with terror and mental scars.

I remember Ian said something like, "Do you think I wanted this?! Who the fuck do you think you are, you don't know shit about that war, you weren't in it!" And then Mitch said something like, "You helped kill my family," and I stopped listening.

I think I slept through most of the day, because eventually it was dark and all was quiet, and I was hungry.

I got up and made sure everyone was sleeping, and I crept to the fridge.

Just as I opened the door and reached for an apple, I heard a scream. Ian.

My eyes widened. I shut the refrigerator door and ran to his room, bursting through the door.

"Ian!"

He was in bed, hands over his face, body shaking. His breathing was labored and it was clear he was only half awake. "Private take the north side Jonas you go– y–" he cried out again, and he sat up, awake.

"Ian–"

"Private!"

"The hell is going on!" Mitch stood in the doorway, and Ian covered his mouth. "Did I–"

"Yeah," I mumbled, and he cursed. He was wheezing, and he gripped his shirt and tried to calm himself down. "I-I–"

"Yo-You're okay," I cooed, and I rubbed his back.

"Mitch c-can I get, w-water?" I shot her a sympathetic look, and she caved. She left to the kitchen.

"Safe, s-afe, Ian," I messed with Ian's hair as his blue eyes watered and glared down at his own hands. He sniffled and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I didn't mean–" he sobbed. "Those things I said. Please, can you forgive me?"

I nodded, and hugged him. "Y-You're okay."

He mashed his lips against mine and I jumped, feeling the warmth again and almost immediately kissing back.

I gasped and quickly broke the kiss just as Mitch walked back in. "Here," she sat on the bed and handed Ian a glass of water.

"Thanks," he took a few big gulps and sighed. "Sorry I woke you up."

"Was that... was that about..."

"The battlefield, yeah. This one almost god himself killed," Ian rubbed my arm, and I blushed.

"That's... that seemed like some heavy shit. You should see a shrink," Mitch mumbled, and Ian took another sip. "I know. But they say I should get better with rest and return to the normal world."

"That's bullshit," Mitch scoffed. Ian nodded. "Probably."

"A lot of things are bullshit."

"Like this whole communism fuckery," Ian shook his head. "Vietnam is an unnecessary war. We knew we were going to lose, but we couldn't swallow our fucking pride, could we? Idiots, Americans are idiots."

"I can drink to that, roommate," Mitch held out a hand. Ian smiled, and shook it.

"I feel like you two need to have a talk," Mitch sighed and got up. "I'll leave you to it."

I brushed some hair out of my eyes. "Sh-She's right."

"I know." Ian rubbed his eyes. "Listen, just listen, alright?"

I nodded.

"I know I'm not supposed to feel this way, but I do. You don't have to say anything, you don't have to feel the same way... just know." He touched my cheek and I leaned my head into his hand. "I love you."

I glanced away.

"We can't."

His hand lowered, and I sighed. "I'm s-sorry."

"It's alright. I should, I should go back to sleep."

"Okay," I stood, and Ian laid down, facing away from me. I bit my lip and left the room.

*

Yes, I had that mentality. We should not, we could not, we cannot. Besides, Ian needed time to heal, we both did, and for me that meant romance was off the table. I didn't want to distract him from what was important; improving his mental health. I should not. I could not. I cannot.

Ian had to get better first.

I was sure of this for about six months, yes, I survived, and then I came home earlier than usual from a speech appointment one day.

I opened the door, and immediately shut it again.

Mitch was making out with a girl.

My eyes were wide and I pressed my body to the wall by the door as the unknown girl opened it and left, face red.

I cautiously opened the door again, and Mitch was still sitting on the couch, avoiding eye contact, body language closed off to me.

"Mitch...?"

"Please, just... don't."

"N-No, Mitch," I sat down next to her, putting a hand on her back. "It's okay."

She turned to me, and sighed in relief. "Really?"

"Yeah. Really."

She smiled and leaned on me. "I'm a lesbian."

"I can s-see that." I laughed, and I rubbed her arm.

"A big one."

"Mhm."

She hugged me.

"I'm gay," I whispered, and I hesitated. "I-I think."

"You have a crush on Ian don't you."

"Mhm."

"Poor baby. It'll all work out," Mitch scoffed and scratched my back. "I can tell you love each other with all your hearts already."

I nodded.

*

That night I was tossing and turning, wondering, wanting, longing, craving– fuck. I was head over heels, no doubt about it. Ian was handsome, strong, brave, funny, emotional, charismatic, and pretty much everything else that made me feel hot and nervous.

He was my everything.

But healing. Heal. Was I good or bad for him, would I help or hurt him?

Before I knew it it was morning again, and we were going with Mitch to a peaceful protest. Time flies when you can't stop thinking about whether or not to kiss your handsome former General with significant mental trauma.

"Ian," I said, and he looked at me with a smile. "Yeah?"

Mitch was jumping and shouting and smoking. We were wearing shirts that said "the war ruined us, but we will not give up" and I felt vulnerable.

"I-If I kissed you r-right now what would... would th-that be bad?"

"Why would it be bad?" Ian lowered the sign he was holding.

"Would– would I be h-hurting you? I know y-you're trying to heal. I want to make– make sure you focus on y-yourself too."

Ian smiled, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Angel, you're such a kind, caring person, all you can do to me is help me. You're a beautiful, perfect man."

"That wasn't– my question." I looked him in the eyes. "You, always, come, first. S-Say it back."

Ian blushed. "I, I always come first."

"You, matter."

"I matter."

"If, we, date,"

"If we date."

"You, will, still, help, yourself, get, better."

"I will still help myself get better."

I held up my pinkie. "You promise."

He linked his own pinky with mine. "I promise."

I kissed him.

"OH SHIT!" I heard Mitch's voice.

And then people cheered.

*

"You two gays are one in a million!" Mitch laughed as she shut the door to the house behind her. "You're fucking incredible!"

"I don't know about incredible," Ian laughed nervously. "Maybe Angel, not me."

"If our government were to do experiments on gays you two would be some fine specimens."

"Careful what you say, it might come true."

"You're right," Mitch smiled. "You two are meant for each other, I just, be careful? You're traumatized, you have amnesia, you're both fragile. Stay healthy, stay happy. And don't let this relationship get in the way of recovery."

"Got it boss," Ian grinned. "Angel already gave me the rundown," he put his hand on my ass and I blushed, pushing it away.

*

"This seems so weird. I'm... I'm kinda glad you waited until I was feeling a little better. That night I kissed you right after I had a full attack," Ian winced. "That wasn't the best time. I was vulnerable and you didn't take advantage of me. God, I love you."

"I love you too," I whispered, and I squeezed his hand. "Now, I do this every night and every morning and I think you should too." I sat up straight, and he followed suit.

"Take deep breaths with me."

"Okay," Ian shut his eyes. We inhaled, and exhaled, and repeated a few times.

When we were done, we kept our eyes shut and pressed our foreheads together.

"My family beat me for being gay. That's why I never talk about it. It hurts to remember."

"You're o-okay now."

"I know, and I'm glad. They forced me to join the army, they were glad to see me go."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Adam sighed. "We know wh-who you were... I wonder..."

Ian knew what I was gonna say.

"Who was I before the war?"

Ian shrugged. "No clue."

*

A year. A year dating him, a year of hardship, but also love.

Ian improved a lot, but there were still nights where he was reminded of the bad times, like during the fireworks on the Fourth of July.

I did my best, but it was up to him, I knew that. He went to a therapist, it seemed to work, and he distracted himself by reading books and watching funny tv shows and helping Mitch be less of a disaster gay.

Things seemed fine, and then a young girl knocked on our door.

"Adam, it's you!"

And then nothing was ever the same again.


	2. PART II - DEALING WITH THE PAST "teaser"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> coming eventually

"Holy fucking shit."

"You were... where?"

"You're Adam Dahlberg, son of Anderson and Joyce Dahlberg. You're important. You have a place."

"Don't let this get to your head, there's something fishy about all this."

"Don't be paranoid."

"I'm your general, fucking listen to me!"

"Do you realize where the fuck we are right now?"

"I don't want to do this either."

"So that's why."

"Oh my precious boy, you're okay!"

"You're a Stapleton."

"I remember."

**AMNAM PART II**

*

"No no no, Angel listen to me," Mitch grabbed my shoulders and pulled me down to her height.

"I don't think you understand how cute that girl is. Don't you ruin her with your little get rich quick scheme."

"I-I'm not saying I'm gonna do it," I hissed, releasing myself from her grip.

"You better not. A girl that good deserves the world. If you go through with this–"

"Mitch I am gay," I sounded out, leaning over to meet her level. "And in love with a man."

**COMING AS SOON AS JOSIE GETS HER SHIT TOGETHER**

**Author's Note:**

> part 2 coming when I get my shit together


End file.
